


Party Games

by NienteZero



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Multi, SO MUCH FLUFF, just take the fluff and roll around in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NienteZero/pseuds/NienteZero
Summary: Prompted by 51PegasiB: Illya and Solo plan for Gaby's birthday.





	

Solo should have known better than to try to wrest anything out of Illya's hands. The Russian giant had a grip of steel. But also, as far as Solo was concerned, he had all the taste of a dancing bear. 

"I said no streamers," Solo said, tugging at the flimsy paper decorations as Illya held tight to them, a scowl marring his face.

"And I said I would decorate," Illya countered. "Let go."

"This is meant to be a tasteful soirée, not a child's party," Napoleon said, letting go of the streamers and leaning back against the wall of Gaby's London flat sulkily.

"This _is_ tasteful," Illya countered, forming what Solo had to admit were pretty, braided garlands out of the pale blue paper streamers. For a big man, Illya had a surprisingly delicate way with his hands. And he didn't even need a step-ladder to drape the garlands around the flat's high Victorian ceilings. 

Solo looked up and sighed.

"All right, I have to concede that it does lend a festive air. No party hats, though."

Illya smirked.

"Last time we have party, you wear lampshade on your head. Paper hat is better." 

Solo rolled his eyes. He couldn't deny the charge. Compared to his partners, he had a pathetic capacity for drinking, and they seemed to take great amusement in matching him drink for drink until he was under the table. Or, on top of it, in his underwear and a lampshade. As the case may be.

There was a rap on the door, a quiet knock that could only be described as shady.

Solo opened the door and a rat-faced, thin man carrying a large wooden crate slipped in, looking around as if there might be police constables hiding in the little kitchen of the flat.

"Ah, good," Solo said, gesturing for the man to set the crate down and slipping him a folded wad of pounds. "Supplies."

The man was back out the door before Illya had time to do much more than size him up.

"Black market," he sneered.

"I'd like to see you get your hands on a couple of magnums of Dom and..." 

Solo rustled through the crate, pulling out a large, flat tin. "Aha!"

Illya's face took on a particular look, a blend of homesickness and stoicism that Solo was all too familiar with.

"Caviar," he said. "You bought caviar."

Solo shrugged, smiling his most innocent smile.

"Nothing but the best for our Gaby," he said.

Illya looked like he might argue. Then he sighed, his large shoulders slumping.

"You better go to shop," he said, "I make blinis. You get sour cream."

Solo raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch.

"Now listen, Waverley will be bringing Gaby home in an hour. We don't have time."

Illya stepped toward him menacingly. He leaned over Solo.

"You bought caviar. You go and buy sour cream. I make blinis."

Solo sighed exaggeratedly as Illya headed into the kitchen, putting on Solo's apron. But as soon as Illya's back was turned, a brilliant smile broke out on Solo's face. If he'd asked Illya to make the Russian pancakes to go with the caviar, who knows what kind of sulk or snit he'd have to endure. 

The little team had been working together for over a year now. Gaby was the first to, under the influence of a few too many cocktails, disclose her birthday to the others. While not generally prone to maudlin outbursts, the sight of a young woman celebrating at the night club they were in, surrounded by laughter and gaiety, had prompted a few sighs of regret on her part. Illya had caught Solo's eye and given him a meaningful glower.

Because their Gaby got what she wanted.

Solo strolled down to Fortnum and Mason for a jar of the best sour cream, and numerous other little delicacies. Gaby's party might be small - just the three of them, Waverley, and a few other U.N.C.L.E. agents. But it was going to be splendid, if he had any say in the matter. He tapped the breast pocket of his suit jacket. A pretty little box was tucked safely in there. He whistled smugly. Let's see Peril do better than that.

\---  
Gaby had the good grace to pretend surprise when Waverley opened the door to her flat and her fellow agents shouted, "Happy Birthday!" She didn't have to pretend delight. Solo handed her a glass of champagne. Illya handed her a blini topped with caviar, sour cream, and chives, and leaned down to give her quick kiss on the cheek.

"Oh you shouldn't have!" Gaby said, "except of course, you should have!" 

Music was playing on her little record player, something light and jazzy and Italian. Solo's choice no doubt. The room was softly lit and pretty with the blue garlands around the ceiling. Someone put a shiny paper crown on her head. Her furniture had been pushed aside to make a small impromptu dance floor.

Later in the evening, Solo took Gaby aside and slipped a little leather box into her hand. Gaby shook it, and it jingled. She hoped it wasn't earrings. The boys were very competitive about whose jewelry she wore, and really, she couldn't care less most of the time. She opened the box and saw a set of keys with the unmistakeable MG logo on the key ring.

Gaby blinked, her long lashes sweeping across her cheek. Their U.N.C.L.E. salary didn't exactly run to sports cars, but there was very little that Solo wouldn't do to make her feel cherished.

"Well, do you like it? It's parked downstairs if you want to see it," Solo murmured.

"It's too much!" Gaby said, "But of course, I love it!" She hugged Solo impulsively, a lingering squeeze.

The party was winding down and Waverley was showing the last stragglers out, and saying his own goodnight. Illya drifted over. 

"Cowboy has gone overboard again," he said. But he looked indulgent, as he looked at the keys in Gaby's hand.

"And what did you get me?" Gaby said, with a cheeky smile.

Illya took a tissue-paper wrapped parcel off the bookshelf and presented it to Gaby with a solemn little bow. She was still clinging to Solo with one hand, and the car keys with the other. 

Illya took the keys out of her hand and gave her the package. She eagerly opened it and pulled out, one after the other, four large black silk scarves.

She looked up at Illya through her lashes, confused.

"Illya, they're lovely, but why four?" she asked.

Illya's face broke out into one of his rare, gorgeous smiles.

"Thought we could take Cowboy to the bedroom and make him give you an even better ride."


End file.
